For hair that exudes vibrant colour and shine use Timotei Shampoo. The revitalising blend of ingredients, including Camomile and Amber,

Why do Camomile and Amber get to have capital letters? I know, they must be people. Amber is, I suppose, not an uncommon name, but Camomile is. It must be cool to be named after a thing that, when made into tea, is believed to contribute towards the banishment of menstrual (isn’t that a type of chocolatey snack?) cramps. It must make being on the front page of the Google search results for your name (ahem) less of an achievement, though.

Interestingly, Mr Ocado seems to think that it’s “Camomomile”. Silly Mr Ocado!

accentuates golden blonde tones and hues,

Why do tone and hue not get to have capital letters? And is it Tone Blair or Tone Soprano? Is it Hue Masekela or Hue Dennis or Hue Edwards? I am probably not the only person who finds it distressing that this is not explained.

leaving you with gleaming, sun-kissed hair.

The sun cannot do kissing. Because it is a great big enormous ball of fiery gas or something, it lacks the requisite equipment – you know, lips and stuff. Even if it could, it seems unlikely that it would choose kiss hair, because when you do that the hair gets all tangled up with the teeth and things can become hurty. Also, hair that is about to be washed or is being washed is often unpleasantly greasy or soapy, respectively. And with a great big enormous ball of fiery gas, it must be dangerous, because of the heat.

Of course, it is probably talking about the tabloid newspaper. Either way, I disapprove, because of paper cuts.

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OK.

Here is something a bit excellent:

Also, this.

We all know that Christmas is about the celebration of the birthday an Israeli carpenter who has been dead for thousands of years. Of course, he freaked everyone out way back then by “coming back to life” on the Sunday after the Friday on which he initially “died”, and clearly people are worried that he’s going to do that again. But just because someone can pretend to be dead for a weekend doesn’t mean they can pretend to be dead for nearly two millennia.

I think it might be safe to stop celebrating his birthday now. None of us are old enough to remember him. Even if it turns out that he really is still hiding in a cave, I doubt that he will be angry. He’s a reasonable bloke. I would imagine that he’ll be quite pleased that he’s fooled us. I can remember playing hide and seek as a child, hiding underneath the table as per usual, and flapping with worry whenever it took a while for people to find me.

Of course, though, we’re not really looking for an opportunity to give this Christmas thing a miss. We rather like it. For starters, there’s the important religious gubbins, but also there’s great potential for consumerism. We can’t forget eating perhaps too much food, watching predictable sitcoms, being with people who came out of the same testicles as ourselves (or similar), and so on, either, but the consumerism is the most important thing.

I am just about young enough to still be able to get away with scribbling on folded sheets of paper and wrapping the sheets of paper in newspaper and sort of pretty much calling the resulting things presents. I love not being a grown-up.

I received a record number of Christmas cards this year, by which I mean that I have never received so few. Most referred to me as “and family”. One called me “Joshan Goodwin”. Another card was addressed to my my mother on the envelope, my father inside the card, and Chris in both places – I will give somebody the benefit of the doubt, and assume that Chris is what they think my name is.

Still, not very many Christmas cards. It serves me right, although I blame the snow. The snow was a definite factor. If God sorted out His dandruff problem, if He didn’t carelessly drop bits of the Channel 4 News presenter all over the place, I wouldn’t appear to not have any friends.

Obviously I am going to tell you what I got for Christmas. Favouritism is a horrifying notion but I can’t mention everything, being a ridiculously spoilt brat. Rather a lot of correction fluid and Pilot V5 pens (which I have just realised contain ink that goes right through thin paper, which is frightfully annoying and means that the search for the perfect pen continues) and glue and PG Wodehouse.

A special shout goes out to the Samsung U10 from the brother (it was the purple one because it was the cheapest one at the time, but now the silver one appears to be the cheapest). It seems pretty magical. Some exciting pictures that can both move and make noises will surely be coming your way very soon.

You should thank him by buying his book. Buy several – they make excellent emergency gifts. It’s definitely a good book. Don’t think that, just because we came out of the same set of testicles, I am biased – it really is good. Go on, buy it. You know you want to.

Doctor Who was reasonably OK. I didn’t see the second part because my mother was watching the news on ITV, but I almost certainly will get to watch it if current trends continue. Of course, Noel Tennant off of Dixon of Dock Green turned into someone else, and apparently it wasn’t very good.

Of course, it is a pure coincidence that the start of the decade should coincide with a perhaps unnecessary and overenthusiastic licking of this publication’s paint. I do not need my calendar to run out to tell me what to do. I am my own man. I was going to do this anyway, and it just happened to be New Year’s Day.

I seem to remember urinating into the bathtub at the beginning of 2009 – if not exactly at midnight, certainly within a few days of that moment. Don’t worry, I wasn’t standing in the bath, but treating it like some kind of urinal, as the water swirled into the plughole. I’m sure it’s acceptable, as long as one doesn’t write about on one’s blog or something. You should respect and admire me for being such a brilliant friend of the environment. I have done it numerous times since.

This time around, nothing quite so exciting happened. Big Ben made its noise when I was in the bath, and shortly afterwards I was disappointed to notice that someone had eaten the last piece of chocolate brownie. All three mince pies had disappeared too. My life is fantastic.

It would be melodramatic to say that the decade known as the noughties has decayed, but it is certainly over now. It was the first decade that I have been around for the entirety of. It was pretty good overall, but I will be furious if it is not trumped by its successor. Hooray for this new, happening decade (I don’t know its name).